


A Romantic Liaison

by TuppingLiberty



Category: due South
Genre: AU - where people don't bat an eye about gay cowboys, Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Crack, First Meetings, Guns, Hand Jobs, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Shooting Guns, alternate universe - cowboys, ooc probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Cowboys/Ranchers AURay Kowalski is the grumpy older ranch manager on Welsh's farm; Benton Fraser is the new hire over at Thatcher's place. They meet in a chance encounter, get in a little trouble, and get very touchy-feely, all in a day's work. The opposite of slow burn.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	A Romantic Liaison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts), [MayGlenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/gifts), [asingerofsongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asingerofsongs/gifts).



> Inspired by:   
> https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/neu111/9321365/183650/183650_original.jpg  
> and  
> https://fuckyeahpaulgross.tumblr.com/post/145179680202/important-psa-thanks-to-someone-here-giving-me
> 
> (Basically CKR from The Young and Prodigious TS Spivet and Paul Gross from Getting Married in Buffalo Jump)

It takes nothing to aim, account for movement, and fire the warning shot into the ground, flinging up dirt and moss and pine needles a foot away from one leather boot. 

“You’re going to want to turn around and go back where you came from, bud. This is Welsh property, and you weren’t invited.” 

The kid Ray’s staring down the barrel of his shotgun does the wise thing and raises his empty hands defensively. He’s young, can’t be more than drinking age, if that, his brown hair curling around his ears and around the edges of his Stetson. A white dog - practically a wolf, Ray thinks - whines at his side, pawing at the ground. “Pardon and, uh, forgive the intrusion. You see, the storm last night took out a line of fencing and I’m afraid Stella is missing.” 

Ray lowers the shotgun slightly, narrowing his eyes at the young ranch hand. There’s been a rash of stolen farm equipment in the Valley recently, but this kid looks too straight-laced to be caught up in it. “You the new help Thatcher hired on?” 

“Ms. Thatcher, yes.” The guy takes a step forward, but Ray’s not threatened. He knows exactly what’s going on now. 

“What’s your name, kid?” 

If anything, the stranger stands up even straighter than he already had been, and the dog seems to come to attention too. “Benton Fraser, sir.” 

“And you just got in last night, with the storm?” 

Fraser smiles, lighting up his face. “Very astute, sir. Indeed, my train arrived last night. Diefenbaker and I have been settling in rather nicely. Ms. Thatcher is an excellent employer.” 

“What’s a Diefenbaker?” Ray asks as he cracks the breech of the shotgun and unloads it. He slips his glasses off and tucks them in his flannel pocket.

The dog next to Fraser whines again, and the younger man gives a bit of an eye roll. “What has happened to your manners since we left Inavut, Dief?” 

The dog seems to take that as permission to leave his spot by Fraser’s side and bound toward Ray. Ray tenses; the dog’s big enough to take him down for sure, but Diefenbaker just does that dog-prancy thing at his legs until he kneels down to smooth his fingers through the white, shaggy fur. Diefenbaker gives a little yip and licks right over Ray’s ear. 

“I do apologize. Like I said, his manners have become atrocious.” 

Despite himself, despite the shitty day he’s had, Ray finds himself smiling just a little as he pets Dief’s thick coat. “He’s beautiful.” 

“And he knows it.” Fraser scoffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning to inspect the surrounding area. It gives Ray an excellent view of Fraser’s equally excellent ass framed in tight denim. “Diefenbaker.” 

Fraser’s hand-command breaks Ray out of it and he blinks, looking away before Fraser can catch him checking him out. 

With what seems like an eye roll of his own, Diefenbaker bounds back to heel at Fraser’s side again. “Like I said, I apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t realize the relationship between Ms. Thatcher and Mr. Welsh was so strained or I would have asked.” 

“It’s more of a friendly rivalry,” Ray mutters as he stands. “Ray Kowalski. Let me guess, Huey sent you on this, uh, rescue mission?” 

Fraser smiles at him again, and Ray decides it’s stupidly endearing. How does a guy as naive as Fraser appears to be end up here? “Yes, that’s correct. I’m afraid I’ve not actually  _ met _ the Stella in question, but Mr. Huey gave me an adequate description of her.” 

“I’ll bet he did.” Ray sighs as he rubs a spot off of the shotgun barrel, right where he’d etched the name  _ Stella _ long ago. It’s a longstanding hazing ritual over at the Thatcher place, one Huey likes to drive him crazy with. Send all the greenhorns over to Kowalski to shake ‘em up a little, see what they’re made of. Annoying as fuck, especially when the Welsh farm has been on high alert because of the stolen farm equipment. But that’s Huey. Great ranch manager, lives to annoy Ray. 

“Listen, kid-” Ray starts, preparing to let the guy in on it. 

“You can call me Benton.” 

Ray blinks at the interruption, then changes his mind, giving a fake smile. Maybe he should see what the kid can do. “How about some help finding Stella, then?” 

“Oh, well, I’m sure we don’t need the help, I’m an excellent tracker, but we’d love company, right, Diefenbaker?” The dog prances. “Ray- may I call you Ray?” 

“Sure.” He waits until Fraser has picked a direction and follows, shotgun resting on his arm, breech cracked. 

“Thank you. Ray, how is it that you came to be in Montana? Your accent suggests something farther east. If you don’t mind my asking.” 

Ray shrugs. “How’d any of us get here?” 

“Well, I came because my father-” Fraser pauses, crouching to get a better angle at something on the ground. What it is, Ray can’t tell. “Stella’s this way.” 

“Sure. So where’d you learn to track?” Ray follows, unable to hold back a grin at the guy’s 'tracking' skills. Guess good looks aren’t everything. 

“I grew up in the Northwest Territories, Canada, and my father taught me survival skills from a young age. I thought about joining the RCMP for awhile, because I certainly always get my man. Or in this case, my Stella.” 

Fuck, why does Ray like a little arrogance in a guy? It makes Ray want to fight, to see if he can take him down a few notches, just to see how he’ll fight back. See how riled they can get. See what Fraser looks like when he’s hot under the skin. See- Ray cuts himself off of his steady and careful perusal of Fraser’s body to realize that he’s not armed in any way. “You came tracking in bear country without any type of weapon?” 

“I’ve got weapons,” Fraser murmurs, clearly distracted. He looks back at Ray, up and down, and then forward again, taking confident strides away from their first direction. 

“Right. So, Fraser, what does Stella look like again?” 

“The description Mr. Huey gave me was quite succinct. He said tan, female, and her most distinguishing feature is that she’s apparently quite old. Wrinkly, even. He said she’s prone to wandering off because she’s senile.” 

“Quite a description,” Ray bites out, steadfastly trying not to bring attention to his crows feet or the grey in his beard. He’s already trying to figure out how he’ll get revenge on Huey this time.

“Indeed.” Fraser gives him a look, a warmth there that Ray can’t quite characterize. “You evaded my answer, you know.” 

“Chicago. I came from Chicago. By way of a few other places.”

They fall into a sort of easy back and forth then. Fraser’s a genuinely likable guy, for all that he seems like a rube. Ray’ll have to talk to Huey, make sure he actually looks out for the kid. 

They’ve been walking for a while, Ray thinking it’s almost a companionable hike at this point, and wondering if he could convince Fraser it’s a good first date, when Fraser pauses again, crouching to touch the ground. He brings his hand up to his mouth to lick his finger, a move that makes Ray wrinkle his nose. “Oh, dear.” 

“Uh, why did you-” 

“We should probably, ah yes, this will work,” Fraser pulls Ray down behind a large felled tree, Dief crawling in beside them, just as a bullet whizzes past them and splinters bark off a tree 10 feet away. “This might be a good time to reload your shotgun, Ray.” 

“What the hell, Fraser? Who is that?” 

“I believe that’s whoever you suspected I was when we first met. A thief, maybe?”

“How’d you know-” 

“You seemed unusually standoffish when we first met, but I had chalked that up to the false errand Mr. Huey sent me on to apparently find your shotgun, Stella.” 

“If you knew Stella was the shotgun, why’d you keep ‘tracking’ her then?” 

Fraser’s cheeks redden a little. “I assumed when you didn’t tell me that you, uh. The way your eyes lingered I thought that perhaps...you wished a romantic liaison of some kind. To which I’m not...unamenable.”

Another shot hits their shelter tree, probably trying to draw them out. It takes Ray a second, though, to move past what Fraser just said. “And so when you came across real tracks…” 

“I put two and two together and believed us to be on the trail of your thief, yes.” 

Ray blinks, because there are way more than two leaps of logic to get there, and he’s also still having a hard time getting past ‘romantic liaison’ but hell if the kid doesn’t seem to be right. “Cowboy Sherlock.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Did your math equation include a way to get us out of this?” 

“I believe that’s where your shotgun might come in handy. Now I’m going to go that direction. Their eyes will be drawn by my red shirt and you can take your shot.” 

“That’s...a horrible plan. How about you rustle out of here and get help from the ranches?” 

“Don’t be silly. I’m not leaving you behind.” 

“How do you know I’m that good a shot?” 

“Please, Ray, like you didn’t deliberately shoot the ground exactly 10 centimeters away from my foot an hour ago.” He reaches over, plucking Ray’s glasses out of his flannel pocket and sliding them onto his face. “Though these might help. Dief, stay with Ray. Protect him.” 

Fraser gives Ray no more time to balk, and hell if he’s going to let the guy just run around without protection. He raises up, leveling his shotgun on the tree trunk and searching the forest where the shots first fired. 

He sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and then there it is, a brown sleeve poking out from behind a tree and the glint of a gun barrel. It kicks, another shot ringing out toward Fraser. Ray aims and fires, winging the gun from the hand - likely with some shrapnel damage that Ray really can’t feel sorry for. Dief bolts out from behind the tree, and by the time Ray’s met up with Fraser to take the thief out, the dog’s standing on the shooter’s chest, growling. 

“Diefenbaker. Ray, his gun?” 

Ray retrieves and unloads it. “You good to walk out of here and have a lovely conversation with the sheriff?” he asks the shooter. He doesn’t recognize him, but it’s either Welsh or Thatcher territory on this part of the mountain and this guy isn’t from either ranch. From here, though, he’d have an excellent view of the ranch trucks coming and going. 

Fraser hauls the guy up and pushes him forward to get him walking, then settles into a casual pace beside Ray, who gives him a once-over. Doesn’t appear to be bleeding anywhere, anyway. “You’ve got some moves on you, kid.” 

“Thank you kindly,” Fraser responds with a nod, and a faint blush over his cheeks that’s fascinating to Ray. 

Gun and stranger handed over, statements taken, a few hours later finds Ray tossing a stick for Dief as he and Fraser sit side by side on his cabin steps.

“About what I said earlier, about a, um, romantic liaison-”

“Hey, so, uh. In Canada, would they consider tracking down a local criminal a good first date? Asking for a friend.” 

Fraser looks away, his hand by his mouth in a way that Ray can see he’s hiding a smile. “Strictly speaking, I don’t think it’s the custom, no. But my father and his best friend did partake in a shooting contest to see which of the two of them would court my mother.” 

There’s a brief silence. “Canada’s a hell of a place.” Ray tosses the stick for Diefenbaker again. 

“If it helps, my mother always told me she would’ve picked my father anyway, though she gave him the cold shoulder for that stupid stunt for the better part of a winter.” 

“Listen, you’ve got a choice, same as your mom. I won’t hold you to anything you might’ve thought before. Don’t sweat it.” Ray wipes dog slobber off on his jeans. Getting rejected is kind of his thing. 

“I do have a choice, yes.” 

“And it’s okay, I get it, I’m a lot older-” 

“Mmm, yes, quite old. Tan, too. Wrinkly and senile one might say.” 

Ray looks over at Fraser with shock, only to see that smirk gracing his lips. Who’d’ve thought Benton Fraser is a  _ tease? _ “You should probably walk away from this old geezer, then.” 

“Probably.” 

Ray’s surprised to find that they’re barely inches apart all of a sudden, and then Fraser’s eyes drop to his lips and Ray can’t help but take his chin, pull him closer, and kiss the hell out of him. 

Fraser gives just as good as he gets; Ray’s not quite sure how it happens but in the next moment he’s pressed against the railing around his front porch, Fraser’s body strong against his as they continue to kiss. He tosses his hat aside, running his hand down Ray’s chest and hooking in the waistband of his jeans to haul him closer. 

“Shit, Fraser-” Ray pulls back, voice already gravely, his face feeling hot. His hand is wrapped around Fraser’s bicep, and he has the sudden thought that Fraser’s probably strong enough to hold him up and fuck him against the barn wall. 

“You can call me Benton, you know.” Perfect gentleman, Fraser - Benton, maybe - lets Ray catch his breath, doesn’t push him where he doesn’t want to go yet. 

And fuck if that hasn’t always been Ray’s Achilles’ heel. Always fucking loses his heart to someone who shows him a little kindness. To give himself a little distance, he puts a hand on Benton’s chest, pushing back even as he feels Benton’s heart galloping wildly. “Sorry Huey sent you one a snipe hunt.” 

Benton gives him the space, reaching down to pick up the stick and toss it for the poor, neglected Dief who has been making his presence known. He shoots Ray a sideways glance and a grin. “I don’t know. Seems rather successful. I got my man, after all.” 

_ Fuck. _

Ray stands abruptly, aware that his jeans are uncomfortably tight. He opens his cabin door, pausing at the entrance to turn to Benton and flick open the button on his jeans. “You coming?” 

Ray’s never been big into interior decorating, and now he counts it as a blessing because Benton doesn’t knock anything off his wall when he pushes Ray up against it. His body feels perfect against Ray’s, solid and warm. Ray can’t help but engage Benton in a brief fight for dominance, only for Benton to pin his arms to the wall by his head and take his mouth again and again. 

And it’s hot, fuck it’s hot, but- “Nobody’s clothes are coming off this way, and that’s a major problem for me.” 

Benton nods seriously, as if he’s taking it as a piece of criticism in a performance review, and lets his arms go. Mostly, apparently, so he can start working Ray’s flannel open himself. He lets Ray pull it off his arms, then works his white undershirt off too, and no small amount of pride blooms in Ray’s chest when he sees the warmth in Benton’s eyes as they work over his chest. 

“I can’t help but note that Huey gave me an extremely inaccurate description,” Benton murmurs as he leans forward, flicking his tongue over one of Ray’s nipples before kissing up his neck and under his ear. 

Ray groans, his cock still trapped by his jeans. His hands go to his fly, but Benton moves them away, working the zipper himself and pulling Ray out. He looks down at Ray’s cock, meets Ray’s eyes, and then before Ray knows what’s happening, he’s on his knees, taking Ray’s cock in his mouth. 

He blinks, like Benton on his knees sucking his cock is all a mirage that’ll go away as soon as his eyes clear. But Benton is very, very real, and very, very good - or it’s been a long time for Ray. Either way, he loves how Benton groans around his dick when he buries his finger’s in Benton’s hair and uses it to guide his movements. His mouth feels like heaven. 

When he feels himself approaching the edge, feels his orgasm pooling low in his belly, he tugs at Benton’s hair. “Where do you want it, Benny?” he manages, holding himself back so Benton can answer. 

Benton’s eyes are warm and bright, and he just moves forward, taking Ray’s cock in his mouth once more. He squeezes Ray’s knee, then strokes over his balls and uses his hand to give Ray contact everywhere. 

“Fuck, Benny-” Ray shudders, holding Benton’s head still as he comes down his throat, pleasure curling down through his toes and back. 

He leans heavily against the wall, his fingers coming loose from Benton’s hair. When Benton stands, he looks absolutely debauched - brown locks messy, lips swollen, cheeks red. Ray groans, pulling him forward for a kiss, tasting himself on Benton’s tongue. 

He lets Benton continue to make out with him, but his main goal is to work Benton’s jeans open as quickly as possible. He wraps his hand around Benton’s dick and strokes him, chasing Benton’s hips when Benton wants to fuck. He takes a certain amount of pride in getting Benton to come quickly and messily all over his stomach, wrecking him completely. 

Benton’s head tucks against his as he leans against the wall and they breathe together. They’re a sweaty mess, but it’s good. So, so good. “Thanks,” he mumbles, still breathless. 

“You’re very welcome.” Benton presses a kiss under his ear. “I thought it would be better for me to get down on my knees, you know, because of your advanced age.” 

“He jokes.” Ray shoulder-checks Benton and starts working on tucking himself back in. 

Benton reaches out, though, to cup his cheek, and Ray looks up into his eyes. “Only because age is a silly thing to make into a roadblock for romantic liaisons, assuming one is above the age of consent, of course.” He brushes a brief kiss over Ray’s lips. “Thank you kindly.” 

Ray’s heart thumps in his chest, and he pulls away. “You want dinner while you’re here? I’ve got burger stuff.” 

But when he turns to head to the kitchen area, he doesn’t put his shirt back on, and Fraser doesn’t look like he’s complaining. 


End file.
